


Imagining the Unimaginable

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am not sure that this counts as either meta or fanfiction but it is in fact related to Supernatural. Based on <a href="http://tricksyxoxo.tumblr.com/post/64095523690">this post</a> on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagining the Unimaginable

Imagining the unreal... Well, frankly, it's impossible. You try and you try, and you just can't. It's just... It's completely beyond the capacity of the human brain to handle it. It's there, you can see it, you can imagine it and yet you cannot. It's intangible, surreal. Kind of like the sky, but even worse. At least you can definitely see the sky, even if it sometimes looks, well, fake.

But the lack of color that coats an angel's wings... The shifting translucency, like sunlight casting a shadow onto the sidewalk through a full water bottle, just won't quite _click_. They're distorted air, and rushing water, and steam, and sunlight, and moonlight, and the white-but-not-white edge of the sky during sunrise.

Abysses of light.

I have seen that shade of sky. I have seen that shadow on the cement. I have seen the way light refracts through a stream. I know the reflections of the sun on the bottom of a swimming pool and I know the bars of moonlight that fall out of clouds and I know the form of a heat mirage on a long highway in Central Washington in August. And yet, I don't know an angel's wings.

I cannot comprehend them.

Cannot understand how they fold despite having seen many large birds in my life.

Cannot fathom how the light grinds through them.

But I love them.

They are beautiful, and fascinating, and I love to think about how the feathers—not that they really are feathers—might feel on my face, and how the breeze they send up would feel on the back of my damp neck in the summer, and how they would shield me from the elements despite their non-reality.

How they are displaced air, yet also shards of glass and smooth pinions and raindrops and lightning and...

And how they are, in a word, unimaginable.


End file.
